


I'll Be There On The Next Train

by fardareismai



Series: Where You Lead [10]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Everyone is normal AU, F/M, Family Drama, Gilmore Girls AU, everyone lives and nothing is horrible, mulan went home for thanksgiving and ruby is angsting, regina/robin just starting, ruby/mulan implied, stars hollow au, thanksgiving themed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:24:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: It's Thanksgiving and Emma and Henry Swan are wanted everywhere.  Four (almost five) Thanksgivings in 28 hours?  No problem!The Ninth Installment in the Where You Lead 'verse, an OUAT Gilmore Girls AU





	1. Thanksgiving Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> ***Author arrives a year late with Thanksgiving-themed fic and lemon cookies***
> 
> **I hope you don't completely hate me for abandoning this mess for a year.  I've been having inspiration troubles, but a lot has changed recently and suddenly I'm writing again, and these two pretty faces couldn't get out of my head.**
> 
> **I love you all, and hope you enjoy this bit of Where You Lead.  If you're a first-timer, read the rest of the stories first.  If you're young or prefer not to read mature stories, once I get to the saucy bits (in the last chapter) I'll provide a SFW version 'cause I'm nice that way.**
> 
> **(Hey you guys, it's good to be back!)**

"I've got an order for a hamburger with no pickles and no onions, chicken fingers, those two are sharing an order of fries, and a cobb salad."

The bell over the door of the shop rang while Killian was handing over the tickets to Bart who grunted his agreement.

"I've also got a meatloaf special with mashed potatoes and green beans, and a chicken sandwich with onion rings," he continued, knowing that Jim would manage the customer. "That sandwich is grilled, not fried, and they don't want any sauces on it- no ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise, got it?"

Another grunt. Killian could hear an argument at the door. He needed to check on that, but he also needed to get these last orders in, and Bart was too slammed to want to decipher his chicken-scratch orders.

"Last table ordered breakfast," he said. "One blueberry short stack, one buttermilk short stack, one french toast, and one oatmeal. Scrambled eggs on all three from the grill, aye?"

This time it was a short, sharp nod, and Killian was able to turn to face the next challenge. It was supposed to have been the drinks for the three new tables, but instead it was the woman standing at his counter, dark eyes narrowed at him and blood-red lips pursed.

"Ms. Mills!" he said, hoping he sounded less horrified than he felt. "What brings you to the Jolly Roger? Can I offer you a table?"

"No, thank you Mr. Jones, I just-"

"Killian."

Regina stopped and blinked, looking at him in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've asked you before to call me Killian, not Mr. Jones."

"In which case, you should call me Regina. It seems like we should be on first name terms, considering."

"Aye, as you like," he said, thinking privately that it would be a cold day in hell before he called Emma's mother by her first name. It would be like calling the Queen of England Lizzie to her face. "Can I make you a cup of coffee?"

"Thank you, but I'm not intending to stay. I just wanted to invite you to my Thanksgiving meal next week."

Killian blinked in shock, completely wrong-footed. "I… er-"

"Captain!"

Killian turned at the shout to see Jim nodding at the kitchen pass-through which was beginning to be cluttered with the meals he'd requested from Bart.

"Bugger," he muttered. "Oi, Ned, can you cover my tables for me for a mo', lad?"

Ned Land emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel and glanced through the tickets that Bart had hung above the plates before picking up an order and heading for the tables in the corner that Killian had been manning.

With a nod, Killian returned his attention to Regina Mills.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, one eyebrow arched imperiously.

He shrugged. "It's as good as any other on a weekend."

"Well then. Thanksgiving dinner? It would begin at six on Thanksgiving Day."

"Aye… well… You know I'm not American."

"Yes," she said drily, "that fact had become apparent to me. I understood from Emma and Henry that you had emigrated here with your family when you were a child."

"My brother and I came over when I was 15. Not such a child," he said, knowing that Regina Mills, better than most, would know how old a 15-year-old could be.

"I see. Well, if you haven't adopted the American tradition, it would imply that you don't have other plans that day. Your sign does say the diner is closed," she added, waving a hand toward the door.

"Aye, it is, but I do have plans. See, there are several ex-pats hereabouts. My friend Robin and his son, his partner Tink, Belle from the library, the sheriff-" He bit his tongue, suddenly remembering what Emma had said about her mother's relationship with Sheriff Humbert. He blundered quickly on to cover his awkwardness, "-there are others that sometimes come and sometimes don't, but we usually do dinner together since most of our American friends are busy that day, you see?"

"Yes," she said, slowly, "I suppose I do. I suppose I had assumed that, patriotism aside, you would have wanted to spend the day with Emma and Henry,"

"I do," Killian said quickly, feeling oddly defensive about it. "Of course I do. It's just that she has her plans, and I have mine, and they're all long-standing traditions and-"

"And you wouldn't want to compromise," Regina said.

Killian glared at her. "We  _are_  compromising. After they're done at your house, they're coming back for pudding with the ex-pats."

Regina said nothing, only pursed her lips and glared down her nose at him. Killian wanted to say more- to defend himself somehow- but she spoke again before he could.

"Well, the invitation is open to you, should anything happen to your own party. I would appreciate twenty-four hours' notice so I can let the caterer know, if you'd be so kind."

~?~?~?~?~

"Are you sure I shouldn't just go?" he asked. "Figure something else out for the lads?"

"Of course not," she said, voice clear over the crash and bang in the background. "I don't care if you leave Will high and dry for the holiday, but not Robin and Roland."

"Yeah, that's true," he said, sighing, "but I was thinking about what she said about compromise. You're the one who's adding time into your day for me. What am I compromising?"

"It's different," she said, evenly. "Hold on a sec- Dennis? That table there isn't centered under the light. It needs to be about half a foot to my left or Granny will have a conniption, okay?- anyway," she said, lowering her voice to the one she'd been using with Killian, "it's different. I'm just an attendee. You're a host. You don't see Regina taking time off in the morning to come to Storybrooke to go to Mary Margaret's or something, do you?"

"I guess so. I just think-" Killian began, but she interrupted.

"Hey! The brown are the tablecloths! They go at the bottom. The orange and burgundy are the contrast overlays. Can't you see they're smaller? Put those on second, and alternate the two colors. That means one and then the other."

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" he asked. "Sounds like things are pretty wild out there."

"Little bit, but who would you send? Last time I was in your place I couldn't get seated."

It was true. The tourists were as thick on the ground as the damp autumn leaves. He glanced through the glass at the top of the door into the pantry where he was hiding and saw another wave of legging-and-sweater clad hipsters send the bell over the door dancing. He couldn't send Jim or Ned out to her, as much as he wanted to ease her load.

"Aye, you're right. I hate when I can't do anything to help though."

She laughed softly at him. "You're a sweet man, Killian Jones."

"Bite your tongue, Swan."

"No hiding it from me now. I know your secret. Don't worry about my mom, okay? I'd skip it if I could, but since that's not an option… no reason for all of us to be miserable."

"Spending time with you is never miserable."

"That's charming, Jones, but honestly…"

"Fine, fine." He really needed to get back to work, but he hadn't seen Emma in days and was enjoying just talking to her. "Remind me your Thanksgiving schedule?"

She didn't seem all that eager to get off the phone with him either. "Wednesday evening is the big formal dinner here at the Inn. You're coming to that one, right?"

"Aye," he said. Perhaps he should have mentioned that to Regina when she'd talked about compromise, but since Emma was stage-managing that one, it wasn't as though he'd get to spend any time with her.

"Thursday the kitchen is officially closed, though Granny is having the Small brothers over for lunch at noon, and anyone staying who doesn't have elsewhere to go will be invited. It'll be leftovers from the night before."

"And you're going to that one because…?" Killian asked.

"Ruby didn't want to be stuck alone with Granny, Grumpy, Dennis, and the rest," Emma said. "Mulan's in California with her family for the holiday. She begged, I said yes… you know how it goes."

"Aye, I know how it goes." Ruby had legendary puppy-dog eyes, when she cared to use them.

"Then Mary Margaret and David are serving dinner around 3."

"And they need you because-"

"Officially, I'm coming to be able to answer all of Mim's wedding planning questions, as the planner of record. More realistically, I'm coming because Henry is charming enough to be a buffer between David, Mary Margaret, and the wicked stepmother."

Ruby's puppy-dog eyes had nothing on Henry's.

"Then at 6 is Regina's shindig," she continued. "No, put the napkins on the opposite-color tables! Red napkins on orange tablecloths, orange on red! Honestly! Anyway-" returning to Kilian again and anticipating his question this time "-I'm going to that one because she's my mom and I've gotta. After the coffee is served there we'll come back to the Jolly where you're only willing to give us tea."

"How about if I promise you a dark beer served at room temperature?"

Emma laughed. "I'd take you up on that, after the day I'll have had."

"Now, I don't mean to be indelicate, but where are you planning on actually  _putting_  all this food?" Killian asked.

"Henry's a growing boy."

"And you?"

He could hear her smile over the line. "I'm sure I'll find a place to put it. Go on now, Jones, before Jim leads a mutiny. I'll be fine, I promise."


	2. Thanksgiving Dinner at the Inn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Happy Friday everyone!**
> 
> **There's a conversation toward the last third of this chapter that I (as a vegetarian) have had about 600,000 times, so I decided to add it in here. It always comes up at least once around the Thanksgiving/Christmas holidays.**
> 
> **WLG is out of town and teasing me with pretty photos of Vancouver and reminding me of that time we saw the Real Storybrooke and Colin O'Donoghue complimented my Hook cosplay. So since WLG is being rude to me ('cause I'm stuck in Texas where it's hotter than Hell and my last week of work gets more annoying every day) you guys should give me happy reviews/news/memes to make me feel better!**

"Everyone have their seating charts?" Emma asked the assembled waitstaff she'd picked up for the event. They were mostly kids from the community college in Misthaven, and a few of the older students from the local high schools, but she'd been drilling them for hours now.

A general round of nods greeted this.

"Okay, any last-minute questions? Complaints? Gripes? Moans? Grievances? Any of you ready to bite my head off?"

That one got a laugh, and Emma smiled back at them. They were good kids, and the people who came to this dinner were usually looking to have a good time, not be hypercritical. She thought this year was set to go well.

"And remember, we'll get dinner after the fact, so you're not missing out. Mary Margaret has saved all of us the best bits, promise."

Mary Margaret chose that moment to pop up behind Emma, bright smile on her face and a cheerful wave for their new workers.

"Hello all! Everyone feeling confident?" she practically sang.

There was a general murmur of assent, but Mary Margaret shook her head.

"Come on now, it's the big Thanksgiving dinner. Got to have more enthusiasm than that! Once again, do we feel good?"

"Yes!" the group chorused with more volume than real enthusiasm. Emma rolled her eyes, but Mary Margaret smiled.

"Wonderful! People should be arriving shortly, there's some coffee and tea in the dining room that you're welcome to before, just be sure your hands are empty when you're showing people to their seats. I'm going to steal Emma away from you for a moment." She tugged Emma's arm off in the direction of the kitchen.

"They're not your grade school classroom, Mary Margaret," Emma said once they were out of earshot of the kids.

"No, but every kid who went to public school responds to that sort of thing. I wanted to ask if you were bringing anything to my house tomorrow for dinner."

"Dinner rolls," Emma said, quickly.

"Really?" Mary Margaret sounded surprised and slightly dubious. Emma was known for bringing a bottle of wine and little else, her cooking skills were so questionable.

"Those crescent rolls that come out of a can," Emma clarified.

Mary Margaret snorted a laugh, but didn't appear displeased. "Of course you are."

"It's either that or I poison everyone," Emma said with a shrug. Her cooking was a town joke, but it was one she'd long been used to.

"And I deeply appreciate your restraint, though I can see the appeal where my stepmother is concerned."

"She's going to be here tonight, right?" Emma asked, glancing down at her list. She knew, of course, but always felt better checking.

"Yes. We put her and my father at George's table."

"Poor Leo," Emma said, though she wouldn't have wished Mim on anyone else.

"Don't feel too sorry for him. He and George were practically brothers through college. They'll be able to re-hash old times."

"Did I know that?" Emma asked as they entered the kitchen, which was calmer than usual, but which Emma knew was only the eye of the storm.

"Don't know why you would," Mary Margaret said, crossing to her workstation. "My parents had left ages before you came to Storybrooke. "Taste," she ordered, holding out a forkful of food to Emma.

Trained by years of this sort of behavior, Emma opened her mouth immediately and allowed Mary Margaret to feed her.

"I don't know how you do it," she said as she chewed. "Turkey is hard enough to get right when it's just one, but you manage it in quantity every year. Are you a witch?"

"I brine it," Mary Margaret said, smugly. "Best way to do it." Her smile vanished suddenly and she looked annoyed. "David is deep frying ours for tomorrow."

"He's  _what_?"

Mary Margaret nodded. "He read about it on the internet- how it's supposed to be even better than brining or smoking or anything, so he went out and bought a fryer for it specifically."

"It's also supposed to be really dangerous!" Emma said. "He's going to burn down the farm!"

"He promises not but… well…  _men_."

Emma sighed. "Henry'll be over the moon, unless David does it before we get there."

"It's only a 40 minute cook or so, I'm sure we can wait until you guys arrive. I just wanted a nice, simple meal-" Emma snorted at the idea of Mary Margaret creating a  _simple_  Thanksgiving meal, which made Mary Margaret smile sheepishly. "Well… a classy meal anyway. I wanted to prove to my parents that Storybrooke isn't the end of the world. Mim is horrified that David is a farmer."

"She didn't know that? You guys have been dating for…" Emma stopped. They'd actually only been dating for about three months before the engagement, a fact which seemed surreal to consider, given that the pair of them had been dancing around each other for most of two decades.

"Exactly. I told them he was an entrepreneur, which he is. He and his mom started that business and run it themselves, it's really impressive! Dad's still impressed, but Mim thinks it's beneath us that he's a  _laborer_." Mary Margaret said this last with an over-exaggerated Boston accent. "I think David's responding badly to it, hence the turkey thing. They think he's a hayseed, so he's going to act as redneck as it's possible to act." She sighed. "Which leaves me with a deep fried turkey."

"And dinner rolls from a can," Emma said, not without sympathy. "I've got a bottle of wine to bring as well."

"Good, I'll need it," Mary Margaret said.

"Mim probably won't be impressed with it."

"Mim isn't welcome to any of it." Mary Margaret checked the clock. "We're T-minus ten minutes, you should probably get out there."

Emma nodded but stopped for a moment to wrap her best friend in a hug. "It's gonna be okay, you know," she murmured before stepping back.

Mary Margaret blinked up at her in surprise, and Emma was a little surprised with herself. She didn't go in for a lot of casual touching, and couldn't remember the last time she'd been the first to go in for a hug with anyone but Henry. Even Killian usually initiated hugs with her- she'd just never learned the knack.

Emma cleared her throat awkwardly and stepped back. "I'll see you in a bit. Yell if you need anything, ok?" she said before hurrying away.

~?~?~?~?~

Killian handed his and Henry's coats to the surly-looking teenager manning the coat room and turned to find Henry engaged in conversation with the sheriff.

He joined the pair with a nod for Humbert and a hand on Henry's shoulder.

Graham nodded back with a smile.

"Henry was just telling me that he and his mum are joining us for dessert tomorrow after three other Thanksgiving meals, not even counting this one."

"Aye," Killian said with a chuckle. "I still don't quite understand the physics of it all. Where do you two put all that food, Lad?"

Henry grinned. "Thanksgiving food is my favorite food ever, and Granny, Mary Margaret, and Killian are the best cooks I know."

Graham flicked a glance up to Killian, laughter sparking his eyes and making the corners of his mouth tremble.

"Very diplomatic of you to include Jones in that calculation, lad, even if he isn't cooking turkey for you."

"Nor pumpkin pie," Killian added.

Henry shrugged. "I'll get pumpkin pie at Grandma's."

"Regina's not a bad cook herself," Graham added.

Killian raised a brow at his old friend who shrugged. No reason to pretend he didn't know Regina Mills, the whole situation was hardly new gossip.

Henry, apparently unaware of this adult by-play, shook his head. "She doesn't cook much, actually and she always brings in a cook for parties."

"Aye," Killian said with a nod. "She'd said she was having it catered."

This time it was Humbert's turn to look surprised. "She said? To you?"

"I received a personal invitation from the lady herself to dinner," Killian said. "She went so far as to grace the Jolly with her presence."

"High praise," Graham said, drily. "It's quite serious then, if Regina is acknowledging you."

"Aye," Killian said, matching Graham's casual tone. "It is that."

Some possessive impulse had Killian gently squeezing Henry's shoulder. He could only imagine what it would feel like to see Emma with another man now, but he didn't have to imagine the way it felt to see Henry's face light up when he saw his dad. He was pretty sure that Humbert was perfectly willing to accept the situation as it was, but the warmth of Henry's skin under the cotton of the shirt he was wearing was comforting to Killian's nerves.

"Mom!" Henry cried suddenly, breaking the slight tension between the two men standing with him as they turned to see Emma emerging from the direction of the kitchen with David, her hand gripping his upper arm rather more tightly than strictly necessary, to Killian's eye.

"What were you thinking?" Emma was hissing into David's ear, her consonants clipped with clear annoyance as she drew him to the group of men waiting for her. "Going into the kitchen on a night like this? She's  _busy_ you absolute  _ass_!"

"Oh Emma, you're too cruel to break up the lovebirds," Graham said with a grin. "Surely Mary Margaret wouldn't become so distracted by a bit of necking that she couldn't perform to her usual standard?"

"Me?" Emma cried, shoving David practically into Killian's arms. "I saved this idiot's life! Mary Margaret was about to cave his skull in with one of her good frying pans." She glared at David again. "Besides the fact that she'd never forgive herself once Thanksgiving is over, do you know how much it would cost the Inn to replace the pan if she dented it on David's thick skull?"

"You're a proper mercenary, Swan," Killian said, not without pride.

Emma just shook her head and bent to greet her son. Killian turned his attention to David.

"Aren't you supposed to be keeping your imminent mother-in-law out of trouble, mate?" he asked.

David looked rather sheepish. "Hence the frying pan," he muttered. "Granny and my mom seemed to be keeping her occupied, I thought I had a minute."

"Seems your lady-love thought differently," Graham said. Killian could tell by the way his mouth kept twitching that he was trying to keep himself from laughing out loud at David's situation.

"Alright you reprobates," Emma said, straightening, "no more cluttering up my lobby. Dave, Mim and Leo have already been seated at George's table, one of the kids can point the way if you can't find it. Graham, you can join him." She shrugged in commiseration at the sheriff. "Elected officials together, you know. At least you can talk to Archie and David."

Graham just shook his head with a rueful smile and took David's arm to lead him off.

"I notice you didn't seat me at the mayor's table, for which I am eternally grateful," Killian said.

"God no, I'm trying to avoid fistfights at this event," Emma said. She smiled at him, though it looked forced and she sounded tired. "You're not even close enough to talk to George. Come on, I'll show you to your seats myself."

"First class service, I must say," Killian teased, matching his stride to her quick, efficient one.

"Helps to know someone on the inside," she said bumping his shoulder with hers.

"Well, Dave thought he knew someone on the inside and he was threatened by assault with a deadly frying pan."

"Unlike David, you don't appear to be shirking your duties," Emma said, glancing down at Henry, who was dressed in a button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. "Couldn't talk him into a shirt without wrinkles I see."

"You're lucky I managed to convince him to wear one that was clean," Killian said. "He's eleven, no one is going to notice. I got him to tuck it in, at least."

"And that's about as much as I could hope for," Emma agreed as they entered the dining room.

Her attention wavered from him when they did- he could see her sharp eyes scanning the room and knew that her clever mind was cataloguing where every ingredient of the evening was, and where it should be so that she could adjust for any changes.

He forgot, sometimes, how very good she was at her job.

Emma led them through the tables to one with a familiar dark back of the head sat, leaning down to a much smaller form.

"Robin! Roland!" Henry cried, hopping over to them to greet his friends.

"Evenin' Tink," Killian said with a grin at the pixie-ish girl who appeared in that moment and settled into her own seat at the table with a puckish grin.

"Jeff and Gracie, and Miss Jasmine will fill you guys out when they arrive," Emma said. "I've got to get back to work so… have fun okay? Be good, Henry?"

"Yes, Mom," Henry said, rolling his eyes at her.

Emma patted Killian's shoulder absently and turned to go, but Killian grabbed her hand for a moment. She turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Good luck, Love," he said, softly.

She gave him a small smile that finally looked real and squeezed his hand briefly, then extracted hers and moved off.

Killian watched her go. She looked like an autumn leaf with her gold hair twisted into a knot, a burgundy jumper and a brown pencil skirt that was so tight he wondered if she could sit in it- not that she was likely to do much sitting tonight, in spite of the height of her heels. The look raised some instincts in him that made him wish that it were the old days when men were allowed a certain carte blanche to pat ladies on the bum.

Not, he told himself sternly, that he wanted to pat every lady's bum he saw. Ruby was passing by, and her skirt was equally tight, and another two inches shorter, and he had no desire in the slightest towards her bottom, shapely as it was. It was only Emma for him, though he would never touch her like that in public. The only reason he even considered it, he decided, was that she didn't mind him doing so in private.

"You should probably put your eyes back in your head before Henry notices the way you're looking at his mum," Tink whispered, leaning over to speak in Killian's ear.

"The lad's seen it a time or two already," Killian murmured, though he turned back to the table as he did.

Jefferson and Grace joined them after a few minutes, led to their table by a teenager in a white button-down and a painfully nervous smile, and the two older children got talking so fast and so hard that they left young Roland in the dust. He watched the pair of them with open adoration, however, and didn't seem to mind too much that they were paying him no mind.

Killian hadn't formally met Jasmine before, though he'd heard of her several times from Emma and Henry. She alone of all of the adults seemed to put the teenage usher at ease, and both Henry and Grace greeted her with enthusiasm. Jeff and Killian exchanged looks across the table- their children didn't greet them with nearly as much pleasure.

It was several minutes later when he realized what was happening: he and Jeff had exchanged that odd, parental look, and Jasmine was speaking to him just the same as she spoke to Jeff and Robin- like a teacher speaking to her students' parents. He was sliding in, almost seamlessly, to a place that was not unlike that of Henry's father.

It was a rather lung-freezing moment, but not nearly as painful or frightening as Killian had expected it might be.

As usual, Emma pulled him out of his reverie by bringing the room to attention and calling the meeting to order.

"I want to thank you all for coming out to this, the Enchanted Inn's twenty-ninth annual Thanksgiving dinner. For those of you from out of town, welcome to our humble home, we couldn't be prouder or more thankful for it, and to those of you who've been here before- some nearly all the way back to the beginning- I just want you to know how thankful we are to you for everything that you do to make this town wonderful.

"Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way, I invite you all to enjoy the finest turkey dinner that New England has to offer!"

Emma grinned at the applause and stepped aside as the teenagers who were serving dinner began to move through the tables, placing dishes to be served family-style at each table, filling glasses, and generally making nuisances of themselves.

Killian noticed Emma watching the proceedings, her public smile vanished, her lips turning down at the edges as she concentrated. Every few seconds she caught the attention of a young person who was passing and pointed to something that needed to be done. Most of the diners would not notice the mistakes, but she was sure to catch every one.

A plate full of turkey was passed beneath Killian's nose, distracting him from Emma, and he settled in to the task of enjoying Mary Margaret's fine dinner with his friends.

"No turkey, Jasmine?" Tink asked as the teacher waved away the plate she offered.

"I'm a vegetarian," she said with a slight apologetic shrug, as she served herself some potatoes.

"Is it like… a religious thing, or...?" Jeff asked, looking interested.

"It was for my parents when I was growing up. I'm not religious myself, but I never really got a taste for it, you know?"

"I couldn't do it, me," Robin said, shaking his head. "Too fond of steak."

"I did it for a few years in college," Tink said. "It wasn't so bad as all that. Really, it was bacon I missed more than anything."

"So you can't have hamburgers or chicken nuggets or  _anything_?" Henry asked, looking shocked.

"I  _can_ have anything I like," Jasmine said, smiling at Henry. "But I choose not to because I don't much care for the taste, you see."

"I suppose it's very healthy," Robin said, though he sounded a little dubious. "No bacon, no red meat, lots of vegetables."

"What about eggs and cheese?" Jeff asked.

"Eggs and cheese aren't meat!" Gracie cried.

"There are some people who don't eat anything that comes from animals, Little Love," Killian told her, gently.

"But not me," Jasmine said, and Killian had an idea she'd had this entire conversation before. "I like eggs, and cheese, and ice cream, and honey, and all of those things. I don't eat nothing but quinoa and farro. I love junk food as much as anyone. I even have fast food on occasion." As though to prove this, she began to spread butter on her dinner roll with deliberate care.

"Better than some," Killian said, thinking he might get some of the attention off of her diet. "Had a group in the Jolly the other day, up from Boston, and they asked where my gluten free menu was."

"They're lucky they didn't ask for a paleo or raw-diet menu," Tink said with a grin. "You'd probably have tossed them out on their ear."

"I told them that they could have coffee, and they asked if I had soy milk."

Robin laughed. "Are they still standing?"

Killian shrugged. "I'm taking the fifth, but I do need to borrow a shovel in the next day or so… when do bodies start to smell?"

The entire table laughed, and Jasmine looked relieved.

"We had a pack in the pub the other night," Robin said, nodding toward Tink. "Told us Guinness isn't vegan. Now why is that important?"

"I suppose it's important if you're vegan," Jeff said with a shrug.

"Can vegans drink alcohol though?" Robin asked. "I mean it's a byproduct of a living microorganism, right? Or do microorganisms not count?"

The table looked over at Jasmine who was frowning. "You know, I've never thought of it that way. That said, I've honestly no idea."

A flash of burgundy caught Killian's eye as it vanished out the dining room door toward the kitchen.

"Beg pardon," he said, setting his napkin down beside his plate and pushing his chair out from the table. "I need to visit the gent's."

"Me too, Uncle Killian?" Roland said, big dark eyes wide and trusting in Killian's direction.

_Damn_ , Killian thought. That hadn't precisely been in his plan, but-

"You're not getting out of eating your green beans that easily," Robin said sternly to his son. "I said three bites."

Roland's face morphed into an absurd pout as he glared at his plate. Killian thought that he might have seen Robin give him the tiniest of winks as he left.

The Inn's lobby was almost as busy as the dining room, and Killian was glad he hadn't actually intended to use the bathroom considering the line. Instead, he ducked down the hall that led to the administrative offices and the kitchen.

The main office was empty- she must have gone to the kitchen first- so Killian leaned against the desk to wait. He couldn't be sure she was coming, and that if she did, she wouldn't take one look at him and tell him to buzz off so she could have some peace and quiet, but he'd thought it worth the risk. He decided to give her ten minutes before he gave up and went back to the table.

She appeared in three.

Emma didn't look especially surprised to see him, and considering the way she immediately sagged with all her weight against his chest, he had to believe she wasn't sorry to find him there.

He just held her for several long moments, stroking her back and enjoyed having her close in the quiet privacy.

"I missed you, Jones," she muttered against his shoulder after a few minutes.

He smiled. "Missed you too, Love. Long night?"

"I  _hate_  events like this. Makes me feel like I'm onstage."

Killian frowned, surprised at the venom in her voice. "I thought you loved your job?" he said. "I mean, you're brilliant at it."

Emma huffed and resettled her head on his shoulder. "I love working with Ruby and Granny and Mary Margaret every day, but if you were to place me in any industry in the world, would you ever choose  _hospitality_? It's the last place you'd pick. And I'm only good at it because it's literally the only thing I've ever done. I've worked at the Inn since I was 17 years old. I couldn't get a different job if I wanted it."

" _Do_  you want it?" he asked.

She sighed. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter, like I say. I'm a high school dropout who has a GED by the skin of my teeth and the goodwill of Mary Margaret. The opportunities aren't exactly raining down on me."

"People in this town know you. They'd give you the same chance Granny did."

She shook her head, still resting against his shoulder. "They'd have to start me at the bottom again, and I can't afford that. I have a mortgage to pay."

Killian leaned back slightly and cupped her cheek in his hand to bring her eyes to his.

"You deserve a job you love," he said softly, stroking the apple of her cheek with his thumb.

"Not if it means I can't keep Henry fed I don't."

Killian sighed and let her return her head to his shoulder. He'd happily offer to keep her and Henry- even if he weren't in love with her, he'd do it for his best friend- but he was beginning to learn her sensitive points and knew better than to even suggest such a thing. Emma wouldn't appreciate anyone offering to save her, and her independent streak was wide and deep.

"Do you love your job?" she asked suddenly.

"Yeah," he said so quickly that even he could tell it was a knee-jerk reaction.

She didn't say anything, she just shifted slightly against him and Killian frowned, giving her question the thought it deserved.

"Yeah," he said again, slower this time. "I don't always like it- it's a job, after all- and it's not what I thought I'd do when I was a kid but… yeah, I do love it. I like being my own boss and not answering to anybody- no matter that George thinks different. I like being a part of Storybrooke, after all that time away. And I like getting to keep some part of Liam alive." He shrugged awkwardly. "So aye, I do love my job."

"Good," she said, with a sigh as another iota of tension seemed to drain from her and she melted more fully against him. "You should."

Killian returned to stroking her back as the silence around them became very nearly sleepy.

"You're tired, Love," he said after a minute. "Let me take Henry home tonight. To your place, I mean. I'll keep an eye on him."

They had planned for Emma to put Henry to bed in one of the rooms at the Inn, then take him home once cleanup was done, but Killian wanted to ease her way as much as she would allow.

She leaned back to look up at him, a light of humour in her shining green eyes.

"You fishing for an invite to stay the night, Jones?" she asked with a teasing grin.

He grinned back down at her. "Well I could leave, if you wanted, but…" He finally gave into temptation and allowed his hands to wander down to cup her bottom through the tight fabric of her skirt. "I wanted to compliment you on your skirt, Love, but it's been bothering me all night. It's rather… clinging, and I can't help but think that the knickers you're wearing underneath must be tiny, and I can't seem to get the question out of my head about what they look like."

"Oh?" she asked, squirming rather deliberately in his hands. "And what gives you the idea that I'm wearing any at all."

Killian groaned and pulled her tight against him, sure he was wrinkling the fine fabric of her skirt as he slowly inched it up her thighs.

"You're a cruel woman, my Swan," he murmured into her ear before gently taking the lobe between his teeth.

"Mmmmm," she sighed. "Is it still cruel if I say you can stay tonight?"

"Yes," he growled, moving so that he could nuzzle the soft skin behind her ear, even as he let go of her skirt and smoothed his hand again over her backside to return it to where it belonged. "Because I'd really rather find out now, but I suppose I can settle for finding out soon."

"Soon is relative," she said, stepping back from him and smiling with her lust-drunk eyes. "It'll still be several hours."

"I'm a patient man, Swan," he said, bending to give her a quick, glancing kiss on the mouth- he didn't want to muss her lipstick and advertise what they'd been doing, though he had a feeling that Robin, Tink, and Jeff at least knew perfectly well. "I can wait."


	3. Thanksgiving Lunch with the Smalls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I know this is a late update, but I decided to wait to publish until I was fully done with my job today. Your friendly writer is officially unemployed and has no idea how to feel about it!**
> 
> **This Thanksgiving event is meant to set up some future plans that have been in the works for your favorite writers since basically FOREVER and I can't wait to get to them 'cause they're going to be a lot of fun!**
> 
> **Happy Friday, everyone!**

"I hate you sometimes, you know that?" Ruby said.

Emma glanced at the level in the bottle of wine that sat between them. She'd had a glass but switched quickly over to coffee, knowing that she'd have to take Henry out to the Nolan farm before too long, so most of the nearly-empty bottle of pinot noir had gone into Ruby.

Granny's lunch was over and she, Leroy, Dennis, and Henry were playing poker until Emma and Henry needed to leave for the farm. Emma thought she should probably object, but they were only playing for chips, and Granny had taught Henry to play five-card stud before he'd learned Go-Fish. Emma wasn't invited to poker games anymore- no one quite believed in her super power, but they couldn't deny that she couldn't be bluffed. Ruby had chosen to join Emma with cherry pie and wine rather than participate in the card game as well.

Emma opened her mouth, unsure what to say, but Ruby continued without her input.

"It's not your fault really, and I do love you, but… It's just not fair, you know?"

Ruby sounded like she might start crying soon. She was usually a cheerful, bawdy sort of a drunk, but with Mulan out of town, it seemed that the wine was just exacerbating her loneliness and depression.

"Uh… what isn't fair?" Emma asked.

"The  _Inn_!" Ruby said, enunciating carefully as though Emma were being stupid.

"The Inn isn't fair?"

"No, you  _getting_ the Inn isn't fair."

Emma glanced at the bottle again and wondered if finishing it off wouldn't make this conversation make more sense. Ruby's head would probably thank her for it tomorrow, but she could just imagine Killian or Regina's response to that excuse and abstained.

"What do you mean, 'getting the Inn,' Rubes?"

"In Granny's will," Ruby said, eyes wide. "She's going to leave it to you."

Emma frowned. "You've seen her will?"

"Well… no. But it's gotta be you, doesn't it? You're the one she's trained to do…" Ruby flapped her hand vaguely in the air, "all the stuff she does."

Emma opened her mouth to disagree, then closed it again, because Ruby was right. She'd left for college when Henry was three, and by the time she'd returned five years later, her shiny new MBA in hand, Granny had already been grooming Emma to become the manager. Ruby'd never said anything about it, though, until now.

"She wouldn't leave it to me," Emma said, trying to sound certain- she didn't  _want_ the Inn, and sincerely didn't want Ruby upset with her over it. "Enchanted Inn has been in the Lucas family for a century. It doesn't matter if I'm the manager,  _you're_ family."

Ruby shook her head morosely. "How can she leave it to me if I don't know how to run it?"

"Rubes, you're ten times as qualified to run the Inn as I am. What it took me five years to learn you'd pick up in five months!"

Ruby just shook her head morosely and Emma sighed.

"Have you ever asked Granny to show you the ropes? The billing and vendor files? Anything?"

"Well… no. But why would she want to bother to show me that when she has you?"

"It may come as a surprise to you, Rubes, but someday I might get the flu, or take a vacation, or meet Prince Harry and finally fulfill my destiny of becoming a real-live princess."

"Pretty sure he's dating an actress," Ruby said, still sounding miserable.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes, and in this ridiculous scenario, the moment he lays eyes on me, he'd fall in love and dump her."

"What happens to Killian?"

Emma grinned. "Maybe he gets the actress. He's prettier than Harry, and she's prettier than me, so it seems like everyone wins in the end."

Ruby frowned as though trying to work this out in her head.

"The point is, Ruby," Emma continued, interrupting, "that having someone else trained in the administration is a good idea. What if something happened to Henry and I had to take significant time off or something? Granny won't be able to hold down the fort forever, so first thing Monday morning, you and I are going to talk to her about it, okay?"

"Really?" Ruby asked, brown eyes wet and wide.

"Really," Emma said with a chuckle. She glanced over at the card players again, then heard the antique grandfather clock in the lobby chime the three-quarter hour.

"Oh crap!" Emma shouted, jumping out of her seat. "We need to be at the farm in fifteen minutes!"

~?~?~?~?~

"What the hell made Grumpy think that a pickaxe was an appropriate thing to bet?" Emma asked. "And what made you so determined to keep it?"

Henry shrugged in the seat next to her as she pushed the Bug's old engine until it whined. They'd left the Inn at 3 on the dot and were going to be fully 20 minutes late to the Nolan place regardless.

"Because I won it," he said simply.

"Has Killian been teaching you to cheat at cards again?" Emma asked.

"Yeah, but I didn't have to this time. I got the full house all on my own."

"Just my luck," Emma muttered, taking a turn nearly on two wheels. "I've raised a card shark. Don't you dare tell Regina."

"Tell Grandma what?" Henry asked.

"That you've been playing-" Emma started, then glanced over and realized Henry was laughing. "How did I ever raise such a disrespectful kid?" she wondered aloud.

"Grandma says you raise the kid you deserve."

"I'll just bet she does," Emma muttered.

"Ruby was sad today," Henry said, changing the subject. "Why didn't she go with Mulan out to California?"

Emma sighed. Sometimes her policy of not lying to Henry led to exposing more of the nastiness in the world than she really wanted to, but rules were rules.

"Ruby couldn't go out because Mulan has never told her parents that she likes girls," Emma said, hoping this might be the end of it.

"They don't know?" Henry asked.

"No, they think she likes boys because most girls do," Emma said.

"Why hasn't she told them then? They'll love Ruby! Everybody loves Ruby!"

"Yeah, everyone does," Emma agreed. "Trouble is that some people out there think that girls loving other girls or boys loving other boys, or people loving both or neither is wrong."

"Wrong?" Henry asked, blankly.

"Yeah. They think boys should like girls and girls should like boys. Mostly because of some pretty old-fashioned ideas they get from the bible, but some people just think it's gross."

"Does anyone around here think that?" Henry sounded a bit horrified.

"Probably," Emma said. "But nobody we'd hang out with, right?"

"Right," he said, emphatically.

Emma laughed. "You're a really great kid, you know that?"

"Weren't you just saying how horrible I am?" Henry asked.

"Guess you're growing on me. Maybe I won't sell you to the circus the next time it comes around after all."

"Good," Henry said. "I wouldn't want to miss David and Mary Margaret's wedding."

~?~?~?~?~

"Don't you ever get tired, Lad?" Killian asked. Roland had been running laps through the diner for at least twenty minutes and didn't show any signs of slowing.

Robin had left the boy with him as he took Killian's truck to pick up supplies from the pub. Tink was stringing up decorations, and Killian was meant to be setting out food, but he'd been too nervous to take his eyes off the wee fiend.

"Make you a deal," he called as the child took another turn across the tile, "if you'll sit here at the counter, I'll get you some cider?"

Roland stopped for a moment on the other side of the diner and appeared to give this offer due consideration, then shook his head and tore off again like a wild thing.

"Damn," Killian muttered. "Tink, got any ideas?"

"Honestly, Jones," she said around the mouthful of pushpins, "just do what you need to do. The kid'll be fine."

Killian frowned. He mostly trusted Tink, but he wasn't sure she was right on this one-

The bell over the shop door rang and in walked Graham Humbert, followed closely by Will Scarlett.

"Perfect timing, mates. Humbert, you keep an eye on that fiend there, and help Tink if she needs it. Scarlett, come give me a hand in the kitchen, aye?"

"Hello to you too, Kil," Graham said with a laugh, picking up a piece of bunting and handing it up to Tink on her ladder.

Killian rolled his eyes and led Will back into the kitchen.

"Shepherd's pie is in the oven there," he said, pointing. "Pot-holders are there, take it out and put it on the counter while I start in on the fish and chips, aye?"

"Aye-aye," Scarlett said, snapping a fake salute and following orders remarkably well for a reprobate.

Killian had just pulled his first batch of fish out of the oil when the Jolly's phone started ringing. He didn't pay any attention to it until Graham stuck his head into the kitchen.

"You going to get that, Jones?"

"We're closed, they'll hang up soon."

"You really should enter the twenty-first century and get voicemail," Graham said good-naturedly.

"You really should be watching Roland," Killian answered back, grumpily.

"Wee rascal's fallen asleep under one of the tables. You sure about that phone? Most people hang up after five or six."

"They'll give up," Killian said, scooping a batch of chips into a basket. "See?" He added as the phone went silent. "Told you s-"

The phone started ringing again.

"You've reached the Jolly Roger," Graham said, having picked it up after its first ring. "We're closed today for a private party and the fact that it's bloody Thanksgiving-" he grinned at Killian and whispered "-thought I'd tell 'em what you would've done."

Then Graham cocked his head and listened to the other end of the line for a moment. "No, but he's right here. Yes ma'am," he said, spine visibly straightening. "One moment, I'll get him for you." He covered the mouthpiece and held the receiver out to Killian. "It's for you."

"It's my bloody diner!" Killian cried. "Of course it's for me. What-"

"It's Regina Mills!" Graham whisper-shouted.

That stopped Killian cold. He reached for the phone out of surprise and brought it to his ear.

"Reg- Ms. Mills," he said. "This is Killian."

"Mr. Jones, thank goodness," she said, sounding as flustered as Killian had ever known her to be. "You remember my Thanksgiving meal? I invited you last week."

"Yes, I remember," Killian said. "And I told you I had-"

"Another engagement. Yes, I recall. I did wonder if you might reconsider. Circumstances have changed, you see."

"Beg pardon?"

Regina sighed. "I invited Richard Gold to my meal this year. He's Henry's grandfather after all and… well it seemed a good idea at the time. This afternoon, however, he called to inform me that, in addition to his expected plus-one, Neal and Tamara will be joining him."

"Bugger," Killian said.

"You do have a way with words, Mr. Jones. I know it's an imposition, but I hate to think of Emma on her own here with Neal and that-"

"No, I absolutely agree, Ms. Mills. I just have to… damn."

Killian crossed the kitchen and pushed open the door. Robin had returned, and it was somewhat amazing how much noise so few people could make.

"Oi you lot!" he called. "I have to put the kibosh on this bean feast. I've been called away- oh don't look like that Scarlett, just because I have actual responsibilities!"

"Mr. Jones!" he heard in the earpiece.

"Ms. Mills?" he said back.

"Feel free to bring your friends, Mr. Jones. My headcount is all to hell anyway, and I've already had to call the caterer once to tell her we'd be doing buffet style instead of by the plate. No sense leaving your friends in the cold, and Emma might enjoy having them around. I'm sure Henry would."

"Oh, alright," Killian said, blankly. "I've a shepherd's pie and a toffee pudding made and can bring those. The fish and chips can go back in the freezer." He transferred his attention to his friends who were watching. "Strike that cancellation," he said in his best admiral's voice, "it's just a change of venue. We're off to celebrate a proper American Thanksgiving with some proper Americans, what do you say?"

"Didn't we do that last night?" Will Scarlett asked.

"Oh do shut up, Will," Tink said, smacking him across the back of the head.

"Regina?" Killian said, back into the phone. "We'll be there in about an hour to help you set up."


	4. Thanksgiving at the Nolan Farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sorry this one is a little late in the day. I have reasons but they're not interesting. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!**

"Emma!"

Mary Margaret was out the front door and halfway down the steps before Henry and Emma had even exited the Bug.

"I texted to say we were going to be late," Emma said as Mary Margaret threw herself at her for a hug.

"I know," Mary Margaret said, pulling back. "But I'm really glad you're here now. Henry!" She bent and hugged Henry as well and kissed his cheek. "David and my dad are out by the barn working on the turkey-frying rig. Want to go help?"

"Yeah, thanks Mary Margaret!" he said. He waved at Ruth and Mim on the porch and took off running around the farmhouse, scattering chickens as he went.

"How are you doing?" Emma asked, lowering her voice so it couldn't be heard from the porch.

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Remind me why we didn't elope?" she asked quietly.

"Because you've wanted a fairy tale wedding since you knew what the word meant," Emma said.

"Should have changed my plans when Dad got remarried," Mary Margaret said.

"Mrs. David Nolan," Emma reminded her. "All worth it for that, right?"

Mary Margaret smiled. "Yeah."

"Here, take this," Emma said, handing her friend the bottle of wine she brought. "And canned crescent rolls, as promised."

"Where would I be without you, Emma?"

"Down a bottle of inexpensive wine and a dozen rolls," Emma said.

"And my mind at least seven times over. Come on," Mary Margaret said, wrapping her arm around Emma's waist, "might as well face the dragon now as ever."

Ruth Nolan stepped down off the porch to wrap Emma in a hug as the two girls approached.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Emma," she said sweetly. "Let me take these from you."

"No, it's fine I-" Emma started, but Ruth was not to be denied, and took the basket of rolls from her hands.

Finally, Emma was forced to turn and smile at Mary Margaret's stepmother.

"Miranda," she said, "it's really great to see you again."

"Ms. Swan," Mim said sharply. "I see your son is no better behaved than the last time."

Emma bit her tongue to keep from reminding Mim that Henry had been four the last time she'd been there, and the temper tantrum he'd thrown had fallen well away from everyone's memories but hers until she felt obligated to bring it up.

"I'd promised him that he could help Dad and David with frying the turkey," Mary Margaret said, her voice bright and brittle. "He was just going out to meet them before the fun is over."

"Had punctuality been of any import to him, he might have been here in enough time to say hello like a civilized human being."

"Well I wouldn't want him getting too civilized," Emma said before she could stop herself. "If he stops eating with his fingers off the floor, I'll have to start doing a lot more dishes."

Miranda looked scandalized, but Mary Margaret and the newly-returned Ruth both laughed, which made Emma feel better.

"Come on inside, ladies," Ruth said stepping back and holding the door open. "We can open that wine Emma brought and have a nice chat while the boys play pyromaniac."

"I'll go grab the corkscrew!" Mary Margaret said brightly. "Come on, Emma, you'll want some coffee," she added, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the kitchen.

"Mary Margaret, the wine is a twist-top," Emma whispered, once they were in the big farmhouse kitchen.

"Damn," Mary Margaret said, though she wasn't bothering to look for a corkscrew and was, instead peering out the windows in the back of the house to see what the men were up to. "I think they're doing it."

Emma joined her with a cup of coffee at the window. They had built some kind of odd A-frame with a pulley that had a large turkey hanging obscenely from the end of it.

"Redneck engineering at its finest," Emma said.

"They haven't brined or seasoned it at all," Mary Margaret moaned. "It's gonna taste like cardboard."

"But everything else will be delicious," Emma said, pulling Mary Margaret away from the window. She couldn't watch what was about to happen- she trusted David, but she couldn't watch. "Except for the rolls," she continued once she'd turned Mary Margaret around.

"The rolls!" Mary Margaret said. She rushed over to the corner where Ruth had set them and pulled back the tea towel that Emma had tossed over them. "Did you cook them?"

"Hey!"

"We'll just… pop them into the oven so we can serve them warm," Mary Margaret said, quickly transferring the pale rolls onto a baking sheet,

"Sure, whatever," Emma muttered. "Maybe I'd rather hang out with Mim."

"You're a terrible liar, Em," Mary Margaret said into the oven.

"Ruth at least doesn't make fun of my cooking," Emma said as she took wine glasses that Mary Margaret pulled down from a cabinet.

"She only does it behind your back."

"See? That's the polite way to do it!" Emma said, and the two girls started to giggle.

"Okay," Mary Margaret said, taking a deep breath at the door to the kitchen. "Once more unto the breach and all that." She pushed out of the kitchen and back into the living room with a bright smile. "Wine glasses," she sang. "Emma said the wine was a twist-off."

"Yes, very clever to choose a bottle of wine that can be opened like a soda pop," Mim said, speaking these last two words like someone else might say "castor oil."

Emma forced a smile onto her face. "I had a chat with Dan at the liquor store, and this is a really great wine for a really great price. My boyfriend knows wine a lot better than I do, and he agreed."

"Oh, so do I," Mary Margaret said. "It's one of my favorites. You made a great pick, Em."

"I figured between Dan and Killian, I couldn't go too far wrong," Emma admitted. "Shall I pour?"

"Please!" both Mary Margaret and Ruth said.

"None for me, thank you," Mim said, unsurprisingly.

"Could I get you a cup of coffee instead?" Ruth offered.

"Thank you, no," Mim said. "I never touch the stuff."

Emma, who had just been taking the last swallow of her own cup of coffee set it down. "Too bitter?" she asked.

"Too vulgar," Mim said.

Emma frowned down at the cup in her hand and wondered what was vulgar about coffee, but caught sight of Mary Margaret's subtle head-shake from the corner of her eye, and didn't bother to ask.

"Ms. Swan," Mim said after a moment, voice suddenly syrupy, "I have been looking forward to speaking with you."

_Could have fooled me_ , Emma thought but didn't say. "Oh yes?" she said brightly instead. "What about?"

"Why, Mary Margaret and David's wedding, of course. I understand that Mary Margaret chose not to have a real wedding planner, and that those duties have fallen to you."

Emma took a long breath and bit back a few choice words. "I am a professional wedding planner," she said through her teeth instead. "I am facilities manager at the Enchanted Inn, a role which includes planning weddings."

"Mm, yes, of course," Mim said, dismissively. "So it shouldn't be a bother to tell me the plan?"

"Of course," Emma said with a smile, careful to modulate her tone so it sounded like she was agreeing with Mim when she wasn't. Still, she reached into her large tote bag she had brought with her, and removed Mary Margaret's wedding binder and opened it across her lap.

"As you know, the wedding is on December 18, just under a month away. We skipped 'Save the Date' cards and went straight to invitations, which you should have received in late September." Emma touched the creamy cardstock that Mary Margaret and David had chosen, then flipped the page.

"Ruby Lucas and Belle French are bridesmaids, and I, Emma Swan, am the maid of honor. Standing with David are his brother James-" she turned to Ruth, "-remind me when James arrives?"

"December 16," Ruth said. "It'll be nice to have the boys back together again."

"Right," Emma said, flipping to a page of notes in the back of the book and writing down the date, then flipping back. "James Nolan, Killian Jones, and Henry Swan are the groomsmen. James is technically the best man, but since he'll be busy until nearly the moment of, Killian Jones is taking responsibility for the 'Stag Do' as he calls it."

"The bachelor party," Mary Margaret translated.

"And that means you, Emma, are responsible for the bachelorette party," Mim said. "What is that going to be, and when?"

Emma squirmed slightly. "It's not fully hashed out," she admitted, then turned to Mary Margaret, "but Regina and I have put our heads together, and she's offered her place-" she turned again to Mim, "-my mom has a nice large house in the Queenstown neighborhood of Misthaven-" she turned back to Mary Margaret, "-for a spa night. Ruby and I are going to put together some special cocktails. I'm thinking old fashioneds, a recipe we found online called 'Something Blue,' and we'll think of something new and something borrowed."

"Oh, that's really cute!" Mary Margaret cried.

"Yeah, I thought so," Emma agreed. "Regina knows some people who would be willing to cut her a discount for pedicures and facials that night too, so it'll be really relaxing and fun I think. Pretty sure Ruby's got a game involving pink penis candy in the works as well, but at least it's not in public."

Mary Margaret and Ruth laughed, both knowing Ruby, but Mim looked a little sick.

"So that'll be the night before the wedding," Emma said, in an attempt to cut off whatever criticism she was about to make. "There's plenty of room for us all to stay out there, and then in the morning we can have breakfast and start getting ready together before we need to drive in. We can finish the beauty prep work in the bridal staging area at the Inn."

" _We_  can," Mary Margaret said. "You, I'm sure, will be running around like a headless chicken."

"No doubt," Emma agreed. "Anyway," she continued, flipping to the next page in her book before Mim could interrupt. She looked like she might explode. "The ceremony and reception will both be held at Enchanted Inn. You were at the dinner last night- the reception will be held in that room, and the room for the ceremony is just off it. It has large windows facing the gardens and then the woods. If we have snow, it'll be pretty magical. If not, it'll give us great light for video and photos."

" _That_  place!" Mim cried.

"I  _told_  you that was where my wedding was going to be held!" Mary Margaret said, holding onto her sweet temper by only a thread now. "It's the nicest venue in town and I love it. Besides, since I work there, I get a super discount."

"It's so… rustic," Miranda said. "Mary Margaret, why couldn't you have come down to Boston and had your wedding in a proper venue?"

Mary Margaret sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, clearly nearly as ready to explode as her step-mother.

"Because that is not what I want," she said slowly, clipping each consonant. "I do not want a Boston Society wedding with the whole 'set' you and Dad spend time with. I want a wedding here, in my home, with my friends and family. I love the Inn, and Emma's dress designs-" Emma was surprised at that- they hadn't even gotten to the dresses, which meant that Mim had been complaining about them at another time. "-And my menu. This is where I'm going to get married, and if you can't be happy for me here, you don't have to stay."

"I… but I-" Mim stammered.

"Miranda," Ruth said softly but firmly, "I think we are all in perfect agreement that we want nothing more than for Mary Margaret to have exactly the wedding day she's dreaming of, isn't that right?"

"I- yes of course," Mim said quickly.

"Good," Ruth said. "I think that's enough wedding talk for today," she continued, reaching over and closing the binder on Emma's lap. "Come on, Emma. We'll go set the table, what do you say?"

Just before she walked through the door to the dining room, Emma glanced back to see Mim reach out and take Mary Margaret's hand.

~?~?~?~?~

"I'm not even sure what's in a shepherd's pie," Regina said, looking suspiciously at the large dish that Killian was carrying as she led him into her kitchen.

"Lamb traditionally," he said, "though this one is beef. Peas, carrots, onions, potatoes." He lifted the lid so that she could see it.

"What's that on top?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Mashed potatoes."

She met his eyes, eyebrows high. "Piped into rosettes?"

Killian could tell that she was holding back a laugh. He snapped the lid back down over his pie and glared.

"I'm quite the deft hand with a piping bag and a rosette tip, thank you," he said primly.

Regina burst out laughing, and Killian turned away to set his dish down. By the time he turned back, she had mostly brought herself under control.

"Sorry, sorry," she said, still grinning. "Look, I did want to ask you something… and I'd appreciate it if you could be… well… discreet."

"Aye?" Killian said, surprised.

"Your friend, Robin. He's… married to Tink?"

"No, she's his business partner, not life partner. Robin's a widower, two years now."

"Oh, I see," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "Well, his son is darling. Four, right?"

"Aye."

"You… you don't suppose they are free for Christmas, do you?" She blushed slightly. "Only… well I've always loved young children, and… Emma was nearly grown when I had her, and we weren't speaking when Henry was small and I… I would like to have a child about at Christmas is all."

"I understand," Killian said. "I'll ask. Discreetly," he added, when she opened her mouth. "Soul of discretion, me."

"Thank you, Mr. Jones."

"It's Killian. And you're welcome, Ms. Mills."

"Regina."


	5. Thanksgiving Dinner in Misthaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We are finally, FINALLY getting around to setting up something I've been wanting to do since I started this silly story back in 2016.**
> 
> **Next week's chapter has an NSFW segment, and as usual, I will provide a redacted version.**

"When the turkey went into the oil, it went all PSSSSHHH, and then it went like WHOOSH, in the air for a minute, and then it didn't do anything at all for awhile until David took the turkey out."

Henry had already told this story, sound effects and hand motions and dancing included twice since they'd started dinner at the Nolans, and was now going over it again in the car on the way to Misthaven.

"Yeah, sounds really exciting," Emma said, "but I asked how you thought it tasted."

Henry frowned and gave this some deep thought,

"I like Mary Margaret's better, but it's not as cool. Maybe we could have Mary Margaret's turkey next year and do something else in the fryer. Can pumpkin pie go in a fryer?"

"I doubt it," Emma said. "But you'd think by now you'd know better than to ask me any questions about cooking."

"I once read that they make fried butter in Texas."

"That sounds disgusting," Emma said, wrinkling her nose.

"They fry pizza in Scotland!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, Killian told me about it! He said Scots fry everything, even pizza. They serve it in bars."

Honestly, friend pizza sounded like exactly what would have hit the spot on some of Emma's drunken nights out with Ruby and Mary Margaret.

"Think he'd make some for us?" Henry asked, unaware of her thoughts.

"Killian?" Emma asked. "He might, but he'd probably insist on frying Brussels sprouts at the same time and make us eat those too."

It was Henry's turn to wrinkle his nose. "I hate Brussels sprouts," he said. Then he gave it a moment's thought. "Might be worth it to try fried pizza though…"

Emma laughed. "How about you ask him tonight when we go to the Jolly after dinner?"

~?~?~?~?~

They didn't have to wait nearly that long. Killian appeared at Regina's front door, balancing Roland on his hip as Emma and Henry pulled up in front of the old Victorian monstrosity.

"Killian!" Henry cried, throwing open his door almost as soon as Emma had set the parking brake. "Roland!"

"HenryHenryHenryHenry!" Roland started chanting, bouncing in Killian's arms, nearly overbalancing the pair of them.

"Be still you little monster," Killian said, shifting the child's weight so he could set him down.

The moment Roland's feet hit the grass he was racing over to Henry for a hug.

Killian made his way across the lawn more slowly, eyes steady on Emma's wary ones as he did.

"What are you guys doing here?" Henry asked, jumping up and down with Roland.

"Your grandmother invited us all. Roland, why don't you take Henry inside. Your Da's here, Lad."

Henry blinked in surprise. "Roland's dad or mine?"

"Both, actually, but I meant Neal. He and Tamara came with your grandfather. Go on and tell him 'hi,' eh?"

"Awesome!" Henry cried and, hand-in-hand with Roland, the pair of boys rushed back inside.

Killian continued around the Bug until he met Emma, who looked exhausted.

"Neal is here?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"Aye, I'm afraid so," Killian said, putting his hands on her hips and drawing her in to him.

"Should have figured," Emma mumbled into his shirt, "way my day is going."

"Bad?" he asked, sympathetically, stroking her back through her heavy winter coat.

"Ruby thinks Granny is going to leave the Inn to me in her will, and Mim thinks it's too 'rustic' for a wedding worthy of Mary Margaret."

Killian rolled his eyes. "Tamara thinks it sounds 'precious' and that the Jolly sounds 'adorable' and the whole town sounds 'quaint.'"

"Ugh," Emma said, succinctly.

Both transplants from bigger cities themselves, Emma and Killian shared an aversion to the way most city-dwellers talked about towns like theirs, and particularly the word "quaint."

"What they mean," Emma had once told Mary Margaret when the topic had come up, "is that they don't think of it as a real town. It's like a postcard or a Norman Rockwell painting, and those of us who live here? We're just rural hayseeds who couldn't cut it in a 'real' town."

"She's  _trying_ to be nice," Killian conceded. "Unlike Cassidy who keeps making…  _remarks_."

"God, I'm so sorry you've been here dealing with that," Emma said. Suddenly she pulled back to look into his face, confused. "Actually, what are you doing here?"

"Regina called when she found out Neal was coming. She didn't want you to have to deal with it alone."

"And you said you'd only come if she also extended the invite to the rest of the Merry Men?" Emma suggested.

"I'm wounded that you think I'd have put an ultimatum on running to your rescue, Swan, but you've had a long day, so I'll forgive your madness. Your mum invited the party without prompting. Scarlett didn't take her up on it, but Tink, Robin, Roland, and Humbert are all here."

"Graham?" Emma asked, surprised. "That's… kind of weird."

"He and your mum are being perfectly polite to each other and it is extremely strange."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here for this, but I'm really glad she called you," Emma said softly.

"Hey," Killian said.

Emma looked up at him. "Wha-" she began, but he cut her off by covering her mouth with his.

Killian Jones was a deliberate man, and he set out deliberately to turn Emma's bones to water. After several long and successful minutes, he pulled back.

Emma blinked slowly, bringing herself back from whatever country Killian's kisses always took her to, and smiled.

"Not that I mind, but what was that for?"

"To remind myself that I can and Cassidy can't," Killian said. "But mostly-" he swooped down for another short, sweet kiss, "-because I wanted to see you smile, Love."

"You're a sap," Emma said, though he'd been perfectly successful and she knew she was grinning like a dope.

"Present and accounted for," Killian said. "But don't spread it around too much, if you don't mind."

Emma had just leaned forward on her toes to kiss him again when there was a loud, deliberate cough from the front porch of Regina's house. The pair jumped and turned to find the lady of the house there, hands on hips, glaring at them.

"That is quite enough you two," Regina said. "Inside, both of you, now."

Regina turned and swept back inside, and Killian gestured Emma ahead of him.

"After you, my dear," he said.

"Interesting thing," he continued as he fell into step beside her across the lawn. "I think your dear mother might have found herself rather warm for the form, as it were, of our Robin."

Emma stopped and stared at him. "Seriously?" she asked, incredulous. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Well he's a handsome bugger, even I have to give him that, and he's an excellent father, even if he is a Man U fan."

"Soccer?" Emma asked, resuming their path to the front door.

"Football, love. And Manchester United fans are a bunch of thugs."

Emma sighed as he opened the door for her. "At least it isn't cricket."

"Don't even say that word around Belle," Killian murmured as they reached the living room where it appeared most of the group was gathered.

"There they are!" Robin boomed, crossing the room to them and wrapping Emma in a hug. "I didn't have a chance to say it last night, but the Inn's party was magnificent. You'll extend my compliments to the whole group?"

Emma laughed. "You know I will. I just left Mary Margaret's place."

"Emma!"

Emma turned to greet Belle.

"How is Mary Margaret doing with Mim in town?" Belle asked.

"She's sick and tired of everything and contemplating eloping," Emma said, shaking her head. "Ruth is a saint to have offered the Blanchards to stay at her place until Monday when the Inn reopens. Imagine the three of them staying in the Loft!"

Belle shuddered at the thought.

"Emma?"

Emma turned to the new voice and felt her smile grow suddenly a little forced.

"Hi, Tamara," she said brightly. "Happy Thanksgiving! I didn't realize you were expected."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you as well," Tamara said. She acted a bit like she expected a hug like Belle or Robin, but Emma made no move toward her and after a moment she subsided. "We weren't expected," she continued. "The trip up was very last-minute, but Richard and Belle were kind enough to let us come."

"Sorry," Belle mouthed over Tamara's shoulder to Emma.

"Well Maine is always beautiful in the fall," Emma said, noncommittally. She glanced around and found someone else to speak to. "Excuse me, Tamara," she said and crossed the room quickly.

"Aunt Zelena," she said, grinning. "Happy Thanksgiving. How's little Hope doing?"

Zelena sighed. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked. "She's teething and miserable and I'm exhausted."

"Poor sweet thing," Emma said, lifting her little cousin from her aunt's arms.

"She has four teeth already. Remind me what qualifies as too soon for weaning?"

Emma chuckled and bounced the baby on her hip. She was drooling horribly and fussing, though not actively crying.

"Mom keeps a teether in the freezer for her, doesn't she?" Emma asked. "Would you like that?" she asked the baby in a higher-pitched voice. "Would that make you feel better sweet girl?"

Emma glanced back to see Killian talking to Belle, Mr. Gold, and Robin, and figured he wouldn't miss her.

Down the hall from the living room, Emma ran into Regina.

"Hey, Mom?" she said, bringing Regina up short. Emma leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Thanks for calling Killian," she said, quietly.

"Oh," Regina said, looking surprised. "Well… I should probably get his personal phone number. I had to look up the number for the diner, and I was somewhat afraid he wouldn't answer. Does he have a voicemail?"

Emma rolled her eyes and laughed. "The man is a total luddite. He won't adopt a new technology until it's practically crammed up his nose."

Regina chuckled. "Where are you absconding to with Hope then?"

Emma glanced down at the baby in her arms who was getting fussier by the second. "I was going to go get the teether you keep in your freezer for her."

"Ah," Regina said, nodding. "Good idea, someone looks miserable. Let me though, the kitchen is crawling with catering staff. I was about to go check on the children in the rec room, which population apparently includes Neal, Ms. Bell, and Sheriff Humbert. I'll meet you there with it."

"Sure," Emma said. "Hey, Mom, you okay with Graham being here?"

Regina had already started off toward the kitchen, but she turned and shrugged. "It is what it is, Emma. And it's your young man who invited him today, not I!"

"And you'll surely never let me forget it," Emma murmured, shifting the fussy baby on her hip again and heading off toward the rec room.

"You know you weigh about 20 lbs more than you did when I took you from your mom?" she asked the baby conversationally on the way.

In the rec room, Henry and Roland were playing a video game together with Graham and Neal watching, while Tink appeared to be inspecting the wall of board games without much enthusiasm. She was the first to notice that Emma had arrived, and grinned widely.

"Hi Emma," she trilled, crossing the room for a hug. "And who's this munchkin?" she asked, peering down at the baby. "Some happy event you failed to mention?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "This is my cousin, Hope."

"Hope," Tink repeated, tickling the baby under her chin with a fingertip. "A pretty name for a pretty lass."

"Robin was also on the shortlist," Emma said. "Now that I know a guy Robin in real life, I'm glad it didn't make the final cut."

Tink nodded. "I can see that. What-"

"Hey Ems!" Neal had come to join them and interrupted Tink as he moved in to give Emma a kiss. Emma quickly dodged out of the way, shamelessly using both Tink and the baby as dual shields.

"Neal," she said, coolly. "Bad form to leave your fiance alone in uncharted waters, isn't it?

Neal shrugged. "She knows Dad, and she and Belle have been getting along well. They're basically the same age, after all. Besides, you're one to talk. Where's Diner Guy?"

Emma had to take a deep breath and bite her tongue for a moment. No knock-down-drag-outs with Neal in front of Henry, she reminded herself.

" _Killian_ ," she said, pointedly, "brought half the guest list himself today. He knows more people here than Regina does."

Neal had just opened his mouth to say something else that Emma was sure to test her, but Graham chose that moment to interrupt.

"Emma," he said, softly, "I've something I've been meaning to discuss with you. Do you know a quiet spot we could talk?"

"I- sure," Emma stammered, then glanced down as the baby began to cry in earnest. "But Regina was going to bring her teether here and-"

"Oh let me take her," Tink said, moving forward to lift the baby from Emma's arms. "C'mere, Princess," she cooed, and the baby stopped crying for a moment to look at her in shock.

"Oh don't look so surprised," Tink said, settling the baby on her shoulder and jiggling her slightly to keep her calm. "When I'm not tending bar at the Pixie, I work in a nursery. I'm good with babies."

"Em, I-" Neal started.

"Maybe that little balcony there?" Graham cut him off neatly, taking Emma's shoulder and pointing down the hallway, guiding her away before she could even answer.

Once they were a little ways away from the door, he looked down at her, one eyebrow raised.

"What on earth did you ever see in that idiot?" he asked quietly.

"I was sixteen?" Emma offered.

"I find it hard to imagine even sixteen-year-old Emma Swan being so foolish, but I suppose we all have histories."

"Some weirder than others," Emma murmured, thinking of Graham's own history with Regina and herself.

"Too true," Graham agreed, probably thinking of the same thing.

They got out the door into the cold air a moment later. The balcony overlooked the back gardens, and Emma took several breaths of the chilly air to try to clear some of the tension that seeing Neal always produced in her.

"So," she said after a moment, turning to Graham, "did you actually have something you wanted to talk to me about, or did you just want to help me get away from Neal?"

"No, I do," he said slowly. "I'm just not sure how to go about it."

"Begin at the beginning, then go on until you come to the end; then stop."

Graham laughed. "Alright then. I think the beginning is that George has finally approved some money in the budget for me to hire a deputy."

"That's great!" Emma said, reaching over and patting his shoulder. "How long have you been telling him Storybrooke's gotten too big for you to patrol alone?"

"Eons," Graham said, smiling. "So, starting in next year, I get someone new on my staff. George thinks we should go outside the town, but I think we'd be better served finding someone in Storybrooke. I made sure he included training in the budget, since I'm the only trained cop in town."

"Smart. I'm with you, I think you should get someone from town. We're a bit… insular sometimes, and we respond better to friends. So were you looking for recommendations?" She frowned in thought for a moment. "The kid who stocks groceries at George's… didn't he just graduate high school? He might be pretty good."

"No, not recommendations. I think I know who would be best already," Graham said. "I think it should be you, Emma."

Emma straightened. "Me?" she nearly shouted. "But I don't know anything about being a cop!"

Graham chuckled. "Swan, Storybrooke has 3000 people in it. It doesn't require just a great lot of policing in the traditional sense. We have about five crimes a week, and three of them are running the red light, and the other two are jaywalking or speeding. No, law enforcement experience isn't my top priority. I need someone who knows the town well and likes it, but isn't prejudiced about it. I need someone who likes getting involved, but can also keep a secret. Someone who can give an order and expect it to be followed, but that people like."

"And that's me?" Emma asked, rather shocked.

"If I gave that description to anyone in town, yours'd be the first time on their lips, guaranteed."

Emma opened her mouth, closed it, and leaned back against the bannister, frowning.

"Look," Graham continued, beginning to pace, "I know you've got a job already. Hell, I thought of you ages ago, the first time the possibility came up at a budget meeting, and tossed it away immediately because I know how much you love working with Ruby and Mary Margaret. Honestly, I wouldn't have said anything today except… well… something about last night made me wonder if you really do love your job. If you do, say it, and this conversation never happened, okay?"

"I-" Emma started, then stopped. "Wouldn't it be weird? Working with your ex?"

Graham laughed. "Only if we made it weird. Look, Swan, I like you. I like Jones. I like the two of you together- I think you're both a lot happier now than I've ever seen you. I don't want to break that up. And, completely aside from that, I've been seeing someone too."

"Really?" Emma said, sitting up and suddenly back in the game. "Who? Do I know her?"

"She's from Misthaven," Graham said tolerantly amused. "Her name is Merida, I think you'd love her, and I was planning on bringing her around the Inn at Christmas, so you'll meet her then. Good enough?"

Emma smiled. "Good enough." She sighed. "Okay, so if- and I'm not saying I do, but if I did want it, I couldn't leave the Inn before New Year's. There's Mary Margaret's wedding, then Christmas, then-"

"I know all that," Graham said. "I won't even have the money until the new fiscal year in February. And there's more to it, and you might well not want it after I tell you." He sighed. "You'd have to be trained at the Academy. There's a test to get in- it's not especially hard, and I'd be happy to help you study. But then the Academy course is twelve weeks- for three months, Monday through Friday you'd be in Portland at the Academy, and only home on weekends."

"Three months?" Emma cried. "But Henry-"

"Aye, I know," Graham said. "Look, Swan, I'm telling you this because I think you'd be brilliant. Maybe, once you think it over, it's not worth it. Maybe you don't want a change. That's fine, but if you do… well, I wanted you to know it was an option, okay?"

"Right," Emma said, then sighed. "Right."

The two sat in silence for a moment.

"What's it pay?" Emma asked suddenly.

Graham laughed at that, and Emma joined him a moment later.

"Erm, Swan?"

The pair leaning against the bannister turned toward the door to find Killian there, holding a glass of wine.

"Just started wondering where you'd gotten off to," Killian said, stepping outside. "Dinner's being served in a few minutes. Thought you might like to know."

"Oh don't look like that, Jones," Graham said, shaking his head. "I was just telling Emma that George has stopped being a tightwad and I'll be able to hire another cop in the new year. All kosher and correct, I promise." He patted Emma on the shoulder and straightened. "I'll see you around, Swan," he said easily as he crossed back to the door.

"Don't think I'll forget you promised to bring your girlfriend around for Christmas, Humbert," Emma called after him. "And if you tell me she's in Canada, I'll never believe you!"

Graham laughed as he closed the door behind himself.

"Sheriff's getting a deputy?" Killian asked.

"Apparently," Emma said. "And he wants to hire me for the position. According to him, a sheriff's deputy knows and likes the town, but not so much that it clouds their judgement, can give orders, gets involved, and people like them. Not sure how he got me out of that."

"Not sure how he could avoid it," Killian said, sitting down beside her. "Do you want it?"

Emma sighed. "It would involve three months away from you and Henry all but weekends for training, and leaving Granny, Ruby, and Mary Margaret. But… the Inn should be Ruby's, not mine, and I don't want to be a wedding planner forever…"

"Hey, Love," Killian said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. "You don't have to decide right now. Humbert gave you some time to think on it, so that's what you should do. If you want it, you and I will do everything we can to make it work. You know I'm happy to keep Henry any time, and three months isn't so long as all that. We'll make it through."

Emma sighed and leaned against him. "I'm lucky, you know."

"Aye," Killian said, bumping her shoulder. "The luckiest."

Emma snorted, but didn't argue. "Can I have a sip of that?" she asked, pointing at the glass of wine he still held.

"Actually, it's yours. Thought you might need some after the day you've had," Killian said, passing it over to her.

"Too right," Emma agreed, taking a long, slow gulp. "Too, too right."


	6. Thanksgiving Dinner at the Swan House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[There is a redacted version of this chapter for anyone who doesn't want to read the sexy bits](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vTNnYNxCrqrreFoO-xWLCez6oYrsoqlibgK-wxtXQoY/edit?usp=sharing).  Though, if I say it myself, the sexy bits are some of the better ones I've written!**
> 
> **The final bit of this chapter has Killian making Emma a dish that's usually called shakshouka, which is what my dad used to make for me when I was insomniac as a kid.  Normally you'd start with fresh tomato sauce, but for those of us with full-time jobs, or trying to make it at 3 AM, canned tomato sauce will do.**
> 
> **That is the end of this one.  There's a one-shot about bachelor and bachelorette parties for next week, and 10.5k words about weddings that might be ready to go in time to keep me from having another break.  I do hope so...**
> 
> **I love you all, and hope you've enjoyed these Thanksgiving adventures!**

In the dark, Emma reached out between them for Killian's hand and squeezed.

"Thanks for driving us home," she said quietly so as not to wake Henry asleep in the back seat.

"I'll be honest, Love, it's more or less the reason I caught a ride out with Robin and Roland. Figured I could charm you into letting me come back home with you."

"I'd tell you you're too cocky for your own good, but you were also right so…" she shrugged. "Thanks for saving me from Neal tonight. Sorry it wasn't what you planned."

"It was better than what I had planned," he said earnestly. "I was with you."

Emma smiled into the dark and squeezed his hand again and the pair were silent for a long moment.

"Your aunt Zelena is a firecracker," Killian said after a bit.

Emma laughed. "She liked you a lot. She asked if I thought you'd make a good father, and when I said yes, she told me when I was done with you to send you her way."

Killian snorted. "You think I'd be a good dad?" he asked.

"You're kidding, right?"

"I guess I've just never really thought of myself that way. My own dad was a real bum, so I just figured…"

"Kil, you've been doing the 'dad thing' with Henry practically since you met him," Emma said, incredulous.

"That's not- he's a great kid and he's great to spend time with. I always figured that being a dad was harder than that."

Emma shrugged. "It is and it isn't. Mostly you love them like crazy and worry all the time, and hope you're not screwing up too badly. Besides, it's not like you haven't been there for some of the bad parts. Remember when the pair of you got grounded? Or the Spanish Flu epidemic of '10? The sex talk?"

"Aye… well…"

"You're great with Henry," Emma said, quietly. "You'd be amazing with your own kids."

The statement hung in the air between them, potent as perfume.

"Do- do you ever think about having more kids?" Killian asked, voice almost too low to hear.

"Sometimes," Emma said. "More in the last few months than I had before but yeah, sometimes."

"Right," Killian said. There were a few moments of silence, and then he spoke again. "You're a really great mum."

"Yeah," Emma said, quietly. "Maybe. Regina's a good mom too." His hand jerked in hers in surprise, and Emma smiled again. "She and I have our differences, but that's definitely as much my fault as hers."

"That's probably debatable but-"

"What I'm saying is that if I did it again- and I'm not saying I want to because I don't, or at least not for awhile yet, but if I did… that's the way I'd want to do it. Her way. Not mine."

"Oh," Killian said.

"Yeah."

The silence stretched long and heavy between them as they drove through Storybrooke and toward Emma's house. It wasn't until they pulled into her drive and Killian had cut the engine that he spoke again.

"Emma?" He waited until she stilled. "Any child that had you for a mum would be the luckiest child on the planet, aye? No matter how it came about. Given your history, I think adopting is a brilliant idea, and if you decide to do it, I want you to know you'll have my full support. Anything you need, Love."

"Killian?"

"Aye, Love?"

"Let's tuck our kid in, and then I think you should take me to bed."

"Anything you need, Love."

~?~?~?~?~

Killian didn't bother to turn on the light- her curtains were open, moonlight streaming in like a spotlight, and Killian loved her in moonlight.

He loved her in all kinds of light. The late-afternoon golden haze of that first time he'd ever had her. The wink of candlelight in their too-infrequent proper dates. The unflattering fluorescents in the diner's stockroom. The flicker of the television after Henry had fallen asleep and it was like they were alone in the house. Early morning, just before the sun has risen, when he got to see her still sleeping as he rose to start breakfast at the Jolly.

There was something special about moonlight, however. It transformed her from pink and golden to white and silver, like a mythic creature.

" _That greatest Glorious Queen of Faerie land_

_To win his worship and her grace to have_

_Which of all earthly things he did most crave._ "

The lines from the  _Faerie Queen_  came to him as though from a dream as he finished unbuttoning her shirt and pushed it from her shoulders. She looked frost-limned, each fine hair picked out in silver.

"You're the most beautiful thing in the world," he whispered, supplicant as the virtuous knight from the poem.

"I'm-" she began, but he stopped her with a kiss.

"Hush," he whispered against her lips. "I say you're perfect, and there's no one here to say different, so you are. You're absolutely perfect."

He didn't want her teases or her self-deprications now. He wanted her to know just how beautiful she was in his eyes- shadowy and mysterious as the sea and twice as dangerous.

He kissed her again, slow and thorough until he could feel her going soft and warm in his arms. His twisted left hand settled on the round of her bottom, while his dextrous right slid up to the clasp of her bra and, with a quick maneuver that even he wasn't sure he'd ever replicate again, he had the thing undone.

He stepped back from her to let it fall, leaving her bare to the waist, save her long hair, silver gilt in the light, that lay over her shoulders. Her breasts were white with their tight nipples night-shadow dark.

Killian lifted his left hand, which curled into a cup by nature, and fitted it around one breast so that the nipple sat right in the center of his palm, and his fingers naturally curled around the flesh.

"Perfect," he breathed, looking up and meeting her eyes.

"Perfect for  _you_ ," she said.

Every part of her, Killian shared with Henry, save this. Emma in the moonlight or candlelight- Emma alone and undone- that was for her lover alone, and Killian blessed his luck that it was he.

He bent his head and kissed her nipple, the one not cradled in his brokenness. His tongue snuck out to taste salt and skin, and he wrapped his lips around her and sucked, and she gasped.

He continued down until he was kneeling before her, his face level with her navel. She'd been so young when she'd had Henry that she scarcely even had stretch marks remaining.

He kissed her belly button, swiping his tongue in, and she made a squeak in the back of her throat. He did it again, and so did she. Her hands were on his shoulders, gripping so hard that her nails bit through the cotton of his shirt.

"Killian," she said, as he took his hand off her breast and began to unbutton her jeans.

"Hush," he murmured, kissing the skin revealed as he undid her fly, just below her waistband and above her panties.

"Killian," she insisted, "I want you naked."

He looked up at her. From this angle she was more shadow than light, and he loved the mysteries of her.

"Aye," he said, softly, "as you wish."

He pushed himself off the floor and began to strip for her, even as she pushed off her pants the rest of the way, and then her underwear, leaving her bare before him in the moonlight.

"Gods," he whispered, distracted.

"Naked, Killian," she reminded him.

"If you insist," he said.

He removed the rest of his clothes and stood for her inspection. "Alright?" he asked.

"You always ask that," she said, stepping toward him and placing her hands on his chest, bracketing his heart. "If I'm perfect, then you get to be perfect too, okay?"

"Perfect for you," he said, as she had before.

"Exactly," she said, and her eyes were the color of secrets as she looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes. "Take me to bed, Killian."

"Aye," he whispered and took her hand. He led her to her side of the bed and allowed her to crawl in, then rounded to his side- the one by the door- and joined her.

Laid out beside him, she was a banquet of sensations- textures and tastes and smells and sights- that he thought he could feast upon for his entire life.

Tonight he started at the top, gently stroking her hair, brushing it off her shoulder, then stroking her skin like a cat. He touched every part of her for only a moment, and only with that gentlest of caress, even when she whined and squirmed against him.

"Killian," she gasped as he barely brushed over her clit, then moved on. "I want-"

"Hush," he said for the third time. "I know what you want, Swan, and you'll have it in due time. But right now your lad is sound asleep, our friends don't need us, your mother doesn't want us, the diner and the Inn are closed, and I am  _taking_ my  _time_."

He almost wished he hadn't when she reached down and grabbed his cock in her small, warm hand, and it was so sweet it nearly ended in that moment.

"Swan," he gasped, and he could hear her smile in her response.

"While you're taking your time, I'll take mine."

She began to explore him with deliberate strokes, not unlike what he was doing to her body as well. Her fingers traveled up and down the shaft, then back to cradle his balls for a moment, then back farther, to the sensitive skin behind his balls, and still back-

"Emma," he gasped, his own work completely forgotten.

"Killian," she whispered, even as she continued to stroke him, "please."

And who was he to deny her, he suddenly wondered. His hand, which had been tickling behind her knee, now came up to the center of her where she was warm and wet as a summer peach in his hand.

She gasped as his middle and ring finger slid inside of her and exhaled a long, contented sigh as he curled his fingers forward and brushed his thumb over her clit.

"Love you," he murmured as he bowed his head to her breast and took her nipple between his teeth to worry gently.

Come for me, he thought as he pushed the rhythm harder, and he could feel her beginning to strain. Come darling, come for me, come sweet- it was a mantra in his head until he felt her go, her muscles going tight and her joints going loose, all at the same time.

"That's my girl," he murmured against the fullness of her breast. "That's my darling."

Killian wanted to bring her down slow, perhaps even taste her before he had her, but he could still feel the aftershocks when she grabbed his shoulder and rolled him on top of her.

"Inside me, please, Killian," she moaned, her fingernails digging into the globes of his ass as she seemed to want to force him in.

"Wait, Love," he murmured, "wait."

He desperately didn't want to do it, but he'd promised her no risks, and Killian Jones was a man of his word.

He rolled away from her to dig in the drawer of his nightstand and withdrew a condom, which he tore open and rolled on as quickly as he could.

Once he'd done so, he rolled back to find her with her hand between her legs, stroking. She clearly wasn't trying to get herself off, she was keeping herself ready for him.

"Gods," he cursed again, and grabbed her hand to lick each finger thoroughly, the smell and taste of her subsuming every other thought in his head save to have her.

He rolled on top of her and hitched one leg over his hip, then slowly and deliberately- he was a deliberate man- slid himself inside her inch-by-inch. Once he was fully inside, they both let out a long, sigh, and Killian rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you," he murmured.

Emma tipped her face up and kissed him slow and wet and languid.

"I love you too," she said, and bit his lower lip.

He began to move then, still slow, still deliberate- long, deep thrusts that made her sigh and moan.

After a few minutes, however, she began to signal him that she wanted more. She stroked his arms and squeezed his shoulders and his bum, digging her nails in, trying to spur him.

"Faster, Killian, god, please!"

He was a slave to her 'please' and he sped up, though not as much as he knew she wanted. Her breath came short and she moaned, but she wasn't there- not yet. He wasn't ready for this night to be over.

Emma seemed to have other plans, and when he thought she might try scratching his back again, she instead dipped her fingers into the cleft of his ass, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to his asshole. Even that light touch made him buck, which made her moan.

"Emma," he hissed, and she snatched her hand away suddenly.

"I'm sorry," she said, contrite. "I didn't ask. I-"

"Hush," he said, and kissed her, still moving inside her. "It's fine, but you can't do that just now, Love. Not if you want to come again."

"Please," she whispered. "Please come with me."

And who was he to deny such a request? It would take a stronger man.

Killian slowed his thrusts, and took her hand to guide it between them.

"Come, Love," he whispered, starting up again. "Come for me, Emma."

He could feel the way she touched herself- tight circles over her clit, once, twice, and then again and she was flying again.

He pushed her through it until, right at the end, Killian let go as well.

As he fell into bliss, another line of  _Faerie Queen_  came to him.

" _Her body, late the prison of sad pain_

_Now the sweet lodge of love and dear delight_

_But she, fair lady, overcoming quite_

_Of huge affection did in pleasure melt_

_And in sweet ravishment, poured out her sprite._ "

~?~?~?~?~

His head was pillowed on her breast, his arm over her waist, and he was nearly asleep when her stomach grumbled.

Killian sat up in shock, looking down at Emma, who looked fantastically rumpled and entirely happy.

"How can you possibly be hungry?" he asked. "You have had three Thanksgiving dinners today, and one last night. I figured you wouldn't eat again until Christmas!"

"Are you kidding?" Emma asked, sitting up and futilely trying to tame her hair with just her hands. "I'm surprised you didn't notice at Regina's. I never eat at those things. Traditional Thanksgiving food is the worst. I hate turkey, dressing tastes like soggy bread, green bean casserole always has mushrooms in it, and who decided green beans needed cream in the first place? I don't even like apples, pumpkin, or pecan pie. Actually, the only thing I ate today other than coffee and bread rolls was some of your shepherd's pie." She shrugged. "So I'm hungry."

Killian flopped back onto the bed even as Emma swung her legs out and stood, gloriously naked and apparently unashamed at the fact, to rummage through her chest of drawers.

"You're mad, Emma Swan," Killian said.

"You, Killian Jones, are not the first to notice," she said, pulling an oversized shirt over her head. She selected a pair of leggings from another drawer and pulled those on too, then turned back to the bed, hands on her hips.

"I am going to make a peanut butter sandwich," she said. "You're welcome to stay and sleep, or-"

"I'm getting up," Killian said, grumpily. He pulled his jeans back on without bothering to look for his pants, and couldn't see his shirt on a quick scan of the room, so he followed her out of the room shirtless.

"You could always date a girl who  _isn't_ crazy," Emma suggested as she led him through the quiet house to the kitchen.

"I've never met one," he grumbled, wincing when she turned on the light.

Emma crossed to where the bread sat out on the counter, still in the plastic bag. "Do you want one?" she asked, rummaging in the silverware drawer.

"Oh do sit down," Killian said. "I'll make you something to eat."

Emma grinned- she'd hoped he'd say that- and sat.

Killian dug through her cabinets and refrigerator and came out with a can of pasta sauce, eggs, cheese, and some spices that were either so old as to be tasteless, or he had conjured out of thin air.

Emma watched him work for a moment. "What are you thankful for, Kil?"

"Eh?"

She shrugged. "Usually people ask it at Thanksgiving dinner, but I've somehow managed to go the whole day without it. So go on, what are you thankful for?"

"I'm thankful that better cookware exists in the world," Killian said, squinting critically into the third pan he'd pulled from her cabinets.

"Jones-"

"Fine," he said, straightening, having apparently decided this one would do. "Let's see, what am I thankful for? Suppose that saying 'you' won't cut it either?"

"No," Emma said.

"Fine," he said again. "I am thankful for.." He thought for a moment, pouring the sauce into the pan and turning on the burner and applying the seasonings he'd found to it.

"I'm thankful that Liam, in all his infinite, overbearing wisdom managed to guilt my sorry arse into coming back here. I'm thankful I had that last year with him. I'm thankful he had a year to teach me to love this place before he left." He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. "I'm thankful he introduced me to you and the lad."

Emma smiled back. "Me too."

"I think that's it. I'm thankful Liam knows what I need better than I do, and I'm doubly thankful he's not here to hear me say it."

The sauce was bubbling on the stove and Killian carefully cracked four eggs into it.

"What about you then?" he asked once he had finished this delicate operation. "And you're not allowed to say me so close to getting out of bed with me. Clouds the judgement."

Emma wrinkled her nose at him. "Vulgar," she said.

"Here!" he said, cheerfully. "Now… what are you thankful for on this fine Thanksgiving night, Emma Swan?"

Emma set her elbow on the table and cradled her own cheek in her hand and smiled knowingly.

"I'm thankful for Neal."

Killian's cheeky smirk slid of his face in an instant and he turned quickly back to his food.

"Are you?" he asked, coolly.

"Yeah, I think so. Because if he hadn't been the ass who told me that you don't have to use a condom every time, I wouldn't have Henry. If he hadn't been a coward who didn't want anything to do with a pregnant teenage girlfriend, I wouldn't have run away and found Storybrooke, and Granny, Ruby, Mary Margaret, the Inn, Graham…" she trailed off.

Killian turned and raised an eyebrow meaningfully at her.

Emma grinned. "And, of course, you," she said. "Without the time apart, I don't think Regina and I would have nearly as good a relationship. I'd have graduated high school and gone to college, and probably would have sucked at it. I don't know what I'd be doing now, if not for Neal, but I wouldn't have Henry, and I wouldn't have you, so I wouldn't be happy."

"Here's to Neal Cassidy," Killian said, plating the eggs and tomato sauce as he spoke. "A right horse's arse, but the right horse's arse when you needed one."

"I'll drink to that," Emma said, and when Killian bent to set her plate in front of her, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down to kiss her, warm and sweet and exactly right.


End file.
